


Enough for Now

by Remy (iamremy)



Series: Remy's tumblr fics [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Witches, set in season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/Remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em><strong><a href="http://wind-in-the-wire.tumblr.com/">wind-in-the-wire</a> asked:</strong> For the writing prompt thingy: SamDean (brotherly or more than, I dgaf) and "I'm coming, just sit tight!" :)</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough for Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dridri93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dridri93/gifts).



Witches are bitches. Or at least, the ones that they encounter always are. Then again, if they were nice witches then there would be no encounter, because  _no one would be dead. Or dying._

This one’s the real shit - she’s a middle-aged woman with wild salt-and-pepper curls and wide, shiny gray eyes. According to what they’ve managed to piece together, she’s been doing small spells for the townspeople over the years, for a small fee. Nothing too serious, just things like  _please oh please can you make Matty Rodriguez fall in love with me_  and  _I really **really**  need that job promotion_ and sometimes  _just please don’t let my wife find out about the stripper I’ve been screwing_. Normally Sam and Dean wouldn’t give a shit about the going-ons in rural Mississippi, as long as there was no serious harm being done, but then they see headlines about violent deaths, they find hex bags, they track down the only witch in town and they understand that maybe just maybe she got bored and went rogue. It’s happened before.

 

There’s an altar in her basement and that’s where they plan on getting her, after everything’s been said and done and planned. Dean tries to banter with Sam before they set out, the way they always  ~~do~~  did, but Sam is surly and unresponsive and it doesn’t take long for Dean to give up. He refrains from muttering the usual comments about Sam being on his period or something - the thing is, he  _knows_  he doesn’t deserve Sam’s forgiveness or good mood. Not that Sam’s been in a good mood ever since he found out about Gadreel. Dean’s starting to think his facial muscles might fall off from lack of use.

The car ride is similar - just a really loud, uncomfortable silence until Dean finally swears under his breath and practically jabs a cassette into the player. Sam raises an eyebrow but does not comment, and Dean finds himself wishing that Sam was still the same person who wanted to talk about anything and everything, and especially  _feelings_. Then again, even if he did there isn’t much to say -  _you were dying and I couldn’t let that happen_  just doesn’t cut it anymore. Dean would love to say that he doesn’t understand why, and that he feels betrayed by Sam (God knows he’s rubbed it in enough times the year before), but then that’s not even true anymore. He can’t even imagine a little bit of what Sam must have gone through during the trials, but even that’s overshadowed by the repetition of  _it should have been me_  and  _fucking Metatron_  inside his head.

Also, the angels have fallen, Heaven’s closed for business and Abaddon is getting more homicidal by the day. He can deal with Sam and his moods after he’s done fixing the world.

Sam finally speaks when they reach their destination. It’s just a “let’s finish this”, but Dean finds himself muttering “Hallelujah, he speaks” under his breath. He’s half-expecting Sam to throw a witty retort, and that will get the ball rolling and maybe just maybe they’ll  _talk_ , but Sam just shakes his head and gets on with it.

The house is quiet, eerily quiet. “She’s not home,” murmurs Sam, pushing open a couple of doors and finding the rooms empty. That should come as a relief but it doesn’t - anything that makes their job seemingly easier is just another reason to be suspicious.

"Yeah well, let’s just destroy the altar and get outta here before she comes back from Hogwarts," answers Dean, pushing open the last door and determining that yes, indeed, they are alone in the house.

"Maybe she’s just in the basement, and we can’t hear her."

"Doubt it. Walls are paper-thin here, Sammy. And in any case why the hell would she be down in the basement with all the lights in the house switched off?"

Sam doesn’t answer. Maybe he might have if Dean hadn’t called him Sammy - a reminder of what they used to be, what they aren’t now and well - it’s still a sore spot. Sammy is the child who still looks up to his big brother and lets himself be protected even if he doesn’t need it. Sam is the adult who stopped the Apocalypse and could probably kill you with his bare hands. In his sleep.

They quietly make their way down the basement steps. There’s a  _click_  as Sam flicks the light switch, and then the basement is flooded in dim yellow light. Perfect witchy environment, though perhaps the skulls adorning the walls are a bit of an overkill, thinks Dean wryly.

The altar is set up at the far end, and if the skulls were overkill than the altar is practically a slap to the face. “Is that actual blood?” wonders Dean, eyeing it warily.

"Probably," is Sam’s curt answer. "Let’s finish this."

Destruction of altars is usually pretty straightforward - they go the crude but effective way of smashing everything, and then salting and burning it. They’re done with the smashing in just under five minutes, and are salting it when there’s an unearthly shriek from behind them.

"Honey I’m home," mutters Dean sarcastically, and turns to face the witch, who looks absolutely, utterly  _furious_ , her face twisted into an expression of rage and hatred.

"You  _fools_!” she screams, stomping towards them and shaking her manicured finger (high-maintenance, notes Dean wryly to himself). “What have you  _done_?” She goes on in Latin or whatever, but since the altar’s been destroyed the spell’s not likely to work. But she’s a powerful witch, she’s been lying low, biding her time and building up her resources over many years, and even if her altar’s broken it doesn’t mean she’s defeated. She unleashes a torrent of angry Latin words, and abruptly the ground begins to shake.

"What the fuck," murmurs Dean in surprise, scrambling to keep his footing. Sam hasn’t said a word yet, but he’s watching the witch carefully, eyes narrow, and Dean knows that expression - he’s thinking. Perhaps, by some small stroke of luck, he knows something that’s gonna get them out of this.

Dean’s torn out of his thoughts by the sound of a gunshot, and he blinks to see the witch crumple to the ground, hands clutching at her shirt. There’s blood leaking out from her fingers, and she convulses for a second or two before going completely still. By now, the ground’s shaking like a full-on 9.0 earthquake, and there are cracks forming in the roof and walls. If they don’t get out soon they’ll be trapped under when it caves in.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees Sam stumble over to the broken altar and try to piece something together. “What are you doing?” he asks roughly. “Come on, Sammy, we gotta get outta here!”

"You go ahead, I’ll be right behind you," Sam replies - the most he’s said to Dean in a very long time. "Go on, Dean, I’ll be fine."

"What -  _no_ ,” protests Dean emphatically, trying valiantly to keep his balance against the convulsing ground. “I’m not leaving you behind!”

"Just  _go_ , Dean!” Sam yells, almost angrily, and that more than anything convinces him that something’s up.

"Sam," he begins, but his little brother cuts him off.

"I’ll explain later, Dean,  _go_!”

And reluctantly, Dean does. He knows Sam’s going to be fine - it’ll take more than a collapsing house to bring him down (haha,  _pun_ ) - but the decision still doesn’t sit easy with him. He makes his way to the outside, and stands in the front yard, watching the house shake on its foundations. He can see some lights flickering inside, presumably from whatever Sam’s doing, but that’s it. Nothing else.

Just what exactly  _is_  Sam doing anyway? He knows Sam knows a couple spells, but nothing that would require a witch’s altar. Uneasily he wonders if Sam’s up to something on the shady side again. He doesn’t want to, but he thinks of Ruby. Sam’s intentions were good, but it had led to the Apocalypse anyway, hadn’t it? If Sam’s doing something similar now then it’s his, Dean’s, job to stop him, make him see sense.

 _What a load of bullshit,_  says a voice inside his head that sounds a lot like Bobby’s.  _That boy saved the world, you idjit. And it’s not like your slate’s clean either - you put an angel in him and that resulted in Kevin’s death, didn’t it?_

Dean tries to ignore that voice. It doesn’t work. He resolves to grill Sammy when he comes out, bad mood or no. He’s the big brother in this equation. Sam, for all his achievements, is still his  _little_  brother, and it’s Dean’s job to make sure he stays on the straight and narrow. Even if he hasn’t been so successful before. But he’s got to try, hasn’t he?

"Let’s go," mutters Sam to his right, and he starts. He hadn’t noticed him come out. He looks up to see the house has stopped shaking. It looks a little worse for wear - broken windows and such - but it’s still standing.

"Did you do that?" he asks, a note of disbelief in his voice.

Sam nods. “Knew a spell,” he offers by way of explanation. Dean waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. They return to the Impala in silence.

Dean waits till they’re back out on the open road before speaking up. “So… what was that back there?” he asks, turning the music down.

Sam doesn’t even bother to look at him when he replies. “Had a thing to do,” he says shortly.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not really, no."

Dean throws a glare at him, but because Sam’s very pointedly looking out the window, he doesn’t see. “Sammy, do you remember what happened last time you didn’t tell me things?” asks Dean. “You brought about the end of the world, that’s what!” He knows it’s a low blow, that’s Sam’s paid for that many times over, but he also knows that if he doesn’t find out what Sam was up to, he won’t rest easy.

The words are the correct provocation - Sam turns around and offers Dean such an epic bitchface that Dean almost forgets what they were talking about. “Don’t even start with me, Dean,” he says angrily. “ _You_  let me get possessed, and Kevin died!”

"I was trying to save you!" Dean retorts, and instantly decides he’ll go down that road later. "Never mind that - just tell me what you were doing down there, and we’ll call it even, okay?"

It’s obvious from Sam’s face that he’s sorely tempted to point out that nothing Dean can ever do will even this out, but he refrains. There is a pause and then he says, voice much quieter and tone neutral, “I needed some ingredients for a spell. Cas thinks it may help find out where Gadreel is.”

"Since when are you and Cas buddies?" Dean asks before he can stop himself.

Sam doesn’t deign to answer that, so instead Dean inquires, “Okay, well, did you find the ingredients?”

"No," answers Sam shortly, and just like that, the conversation is over.

 _So this is how it’s gonna be,_  thinks Dean with a trace of sadness.  _From brothers to strangers._  He knows he doesn’t deserve Sam’s forgiveness right off the bat, but he’s also getting tired of receiving the cold shoulder. And okay, maybe he could have handled this better (there was no need to bring the Apocalypse up, for one). He almost punches the steering wheel out of sheer frustration. It’s been weeks. Sam doesn’t talk to him beyond a “good morning” and a “I’m going to bed” every day. Cas, whom he’d thought would stick up for him, is siding firmly with Sam. Crowley’s still in the wind with the First Blade. And he feels tetchier and more violent each day - a side-effect of the Mark, he presumes.

It feels a lot like he’s losing his faith - in himself, in his circumstances, in Sam, and in Cas. His baby brother, who’s always been his anchor no matter what, won’t talk to him. Everything seems to be going to shit, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Sam seems to have fallen asleep, head resting against the window, and even from a single glance Dean can pinpoint the dark shadows under his eyes, the lines that weren’t there before. Sam looks the worst that Dean’s ever seen him but. At least he’s  _alive_.

And for now, that will have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is loove <33


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